The electric tension in the air was suddenly shattered by a thunderous explosion. The sound reverberated through the corridors, causing the very walls to tremble. "Intruders!" An agent's voice cut through the chaos, his words sharp with urgency. From another end of the hallway, a figure emerged, moving with purposeful haste. "All agents are needed now," he declared, his voice brooking no argument.
Cyrus felt his breath calm, the sudden shift in focus providing an unexpected reprieve. Without hesitation, the duo fell in line behind the man, using the ensuing chaos to slip unnoticed into a nearby room. The door closed behind them with a soft click, muffling the sounds of commotion outside.
As their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. "Cyrus, what the hell are you doing here?" Lork's voice was a mixture of surprise and relief. Cyrus felt a wave of emotion wash over him, the tension of the past hours finally finding release. He embraced his best friend, the solid presence of Lork a comfort he hadn't realized he'd been craving. "I thought they cut your head," Cyrus admitted, his voice thick with emotion.
Lork chuckled, the sound a balm to Cyrus's frayed nerves. "There are better words you know," he quipped, turning his attention to Tirag. He stood near the door, his posture tense and alert. "Now that you have finished cajoling, can we move? This disguise wouldn't last for long," Tirag growled, one hand pressed to his chest. A dark, wet stain was slowly spreading across the fabric of his stolen uniform, a stark reminder of the Nightmare Vogel's devastating attack.
The reunion was short-lived as Cyrus's relief gave way to frustration. With a sudden surge of anger, he lashed out, his fist connecting with Lork's face. The impact was solid, and Lork stumbled back, blood trickling from his nose. "What the hell did you have in mind coming here? Are you tired of living?" Cyrus demanded, his voice low but intense.
Lork shook his head, dabbing at his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. "It was merited," he admitted, his voice nasally from the blow. Despite the pain, there was a gleam of excitement in his eyes as he began to explain. "The bureau has a central command center for the headquarters defense, including the Nightmare Vogel control. If we can get to the control center, we can take the building and use its power against them." His words tumbled out in a rush, his enthusiasm palpable. "I already have friends in position. All we have to do is join them and open the door. Cyrus, this is our chance. This is our chance to give a taste of their medicine to these bastards."
As Lork spoke, he gestured to a map, his finger tracing the route they would need to take. Tirag, ever the pragmatist, glanced warily through the door. "It's suicidal," he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of admiration and disbelief.
Cyrus's mind raced, weighing the enormity of what Lork was proposing against the very real dangers that surrounded them. The sounds of agents moving through the corridors intensified, a constant reminder of the precarious nature of their position. It wouldn't be long before someone randomly opened the door, stumbling upon their impromptu meeting.
The weight of the decision pressed down on Cyrus. To follow Lork in his audacious plan could mean their doom, but success... success could deal a blow to the Bureau unlike any they had suffered before. The organization had existed for hundreds of years, dating back to the great war. Could they really hope to take this headquarters? The idea seemed almost laughable in its ambition.
With a resigned sigh, Cyrus made his choice. "I hope you have a solid plan," he said, knowing full well he was likely making a decision he would bitterly regret.
With renewed purpose, the trio resumed their stealthy infiltration of the Bureau headquarters. Lork's ability to turn invisible proved invaluable, allowing them to incapacitate any agents who saw through their disguises. As they navigated the labyrinthine corridors, they suddenly found themselves face to face with a group moving in the opposite direction.
Cyrus felt his blood freeze in his veins as he recognized the imposing figure of Nemesis. Walking ahead of the feared executioner was a man whose appearance was as striking as it was incongruous in these austere surroundings. Long, golden hair cascaded down his face, framing delicate features that could easily be mistaken for a woman's. As the group drew closer, Cyrus had to tilt his head back to meet the man's gaze, startled by his impressive height.
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Nemesis held the man from behind, magical chains undulating over his body like living serpents. The chains appeared metallic but were as black as the night sky, occasionally crackling with flashes of lightning. Despite his apparent captivity, the man wore a serene smile, moving with an easy grace that belied his situation.
Cyrus could hear Tirag's breathing accelerate beside him, a tell-tale sign of the mercenary's growing anxiety. The trio stepped aside, lowering their heads in a show of deference as Nemesis and his entourage passed. The golden-haired man's voice drifted back to them, soft yet clear. "Plants, when not dogged at the roots, always finish by regrowing. Only by unrooting can we replant." The words seemed to hang in the air, laden with hidden meaning. Nemesis responded by pushing the man forward, urging him to move on.
As the group disappeared around a corner, the trio let out a collective sigh of relief. Cyrus felt his stomach churn, sick of the constant tension and subterfuge. He wasn't sure how much longer his nerves could withstand this pressure.
Tirag's reaction, however, caught Cyrus off guard. The usually stoic Tirag was visibly shaken, his forehead beaded with sweat. His sturdy frame seemed to have shrunk, as if the encounter had drained him of his strength. "It-it was him," Tirag stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Cyrus frowned, moving closer to his trembling companion. "What do you mean? Do you know that man?" he asked, confused by Tirag's uncharacteristic behavior.
Lork gulped audibly, his own hands shaking as he spoke. "It's him! The most wanted criminal that Arcana has ever produced. A real agent of chaos." His voice took on an almost reverent tone as he continued. "He who causes a mix of feelings in all those he meets, a toxic mixture of both fear and reverence. Said to have died 108 times but always came back from death's door. Lionore Mondragon, also referred to as the Immortal Lion."
The name hit Cyrus like a physical blow, freezing him in place. Lionore – the very man who had killed Leora's father. "Wasn't he supposed to be dead?" Cyrus wondered aloud, his mind reeling. Why had Lionore spoken those cryptic words? Had he recognized them? And perhaps most pressingly, what was he doing in the Bureau? Had Nemesis truly managed to capture such a legendary figure?
These questions swirled in Cyrus's mind, threatening to overwhelm him. But Lork's voice cut through the fog of confusion. "Let's go. The faster we finish what we have to do, the faster we can leave this place," he urged, his tone brooking no argument.
Pushing aside their shock, the trio pressed on. Their path led them to a vast chamber, its grandeur a stark contrast to the utilitarian corridors they had traversed. Cylindrical pillars lined both sides of the room, their surfaces gleaming in the soft light that emanated from a large, luminous square set into the ceiling above.
Their eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the room, where a teal green door stood in solitary splendor. Its golden handle glinted invitingly, while an image of a female figure, framed in a perfect circle, adorned its surface. The woman depicted was the very embodiment of majesty, her eyes exquisitely rendered and her features truly angelic.
Cyrus blinked, mesmerized by the door's beauty. He circled behind it, expecting to find... something. But there was nothing. The chamber had no other exit apart from where they had entered. Just this strange, teal door standing alone in the middle of the room.
"Are you sure we are in the right place?" Cyrus asked, his voice tinged with doubt as he studied the door once more.
Lork pulled out his plan, scrutinizing every detail with growing concern. Cyrus's face darkened as he watched his friend's expression change. "Where did you get this map?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"I bought it on the black market," Lork admitted. "You can have almost everything there."
Cyrus slapped his forehead in exasperation. He, too, had heard stories about the black market of Arkania. It was said one could find everything that could be bought there – from exotic objects to closely guarded secrets like the plan Lork had acquired, and even human beings. Literally anything.
But it was the nature of the black market that caused Cyrus to frown. According to rumors, the black market was totally transparent. Which meant the plan Lork had was indeed that of the Bureau – a plan that led to a room with no apparent exit. The Bureau never did things haphazardly. The plan wasn't wrong; on the contrary, it was frighteningly accurate. Too correct.
As the pieces fell into place, Cyrus felt a chill run down his spine. "We've been tricked, Lork," he said, his voice hollow with the realization. "It was intentionally sold in the black market. The Bureau prepared everything." His face turned pale as the full implications of their situation sank in. They had walked willingly into a trap, and now the jaws were poised to snap shut around them.